Upside Down
by Emily Is Me
Summary: Emma Wilson had always believed she was nothing special. She was a petite child, with grey eyes and blonde hair. Nothing about her outward appearance would even hint at being extraordinary, yet extraordinary was the only way to describe her. Emma was a witch, you see, and her whole world was about to be turned upside down. Based off of book 1, rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. A Prologue of Sorts

_Hey it's me again :)_

_I posted this before but it got deleted for no reason, so I'm trying again._

_For those of you who read my other story,_ Everything Will be Alright,_ I promise that this one will be more successful, especially in regards to updates, plot, and overall writing quality. This time I have taken extra care to figuring out the plot and fill in the holes before I started, and have written some of this story in advance. I have also taken a lot of time editing this, but I am aware that there are still things to be improved on and really appreciate any feedback, as long as its polite. This is my first OC story, and if my character comes off as a Mary Sue I would love to be told because I would like to fix it to the best of my ability. Thank you for giving this story a chance, and I hope you enjoy it. That being said - this is the prologue and is sadly short. Luckily the next chapter is about 2x longer. _

_See you soon (hopefully)_

_-emily _

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

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_Let hope arise _

_And make_

_The darkness hide_

_\- God's not dead_

_The Newsboys_

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It was a dark and treacherous night. The normally star-studded sky was covered in a layer foreboding storm clouds that blocked out any rays of sunlight. Strong winds howled fiercely as waves of rain poured down onto the town. This was the kind of night that reminds you of a horror movie you had watched the week before. It was also the kind of night that makes you want to curl up with three blankets and watch a happy musical that you would sing along to, no matter how bad your voice may sound. This night was a time when no one without a death wish would dare to go outside, which was why the streets lay deserted, without a single creature to be seen. Though if there was anyone outside, it would be a challenge to spot them, as the city had been forced into darkness by a power outage.

However, one house seemed unaffected by the storm. This house was a small cottage, with bright light pouring out of the windows. If you stood close enough, you could hear the sound of exuberant laughter coming from inside. The neighbors stared at it through their windows, filled with jealousy. Why couldn't their houses be blessed with electricity on such a morbid night? They assumed the occupants of the house must have installed a generator, after all, how else could they be using electricity?

Across from the cottage, a strange man suddenly appeared on the sidewalk, as if by magic. He seemed to have simply materialized out of thin air, though such a feat would have normally been deemed impossible. Nothing like this man had ever been seen in the area. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a flowing purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles. His eyes gave off the impression that they held all the knowledge that this world had to offer. Beneath these eyes, his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore. Oddly enough, the pelting rain didn't seem to bother him, nor did the fierce sting of the biting wind. His robes didn't even look the slightest bit wet! It was almost as if he hadn't even noticed the raging storm. Dumbledore's twinkling eyes scanned the street, before promptly stopping at the aforementioned cottage. A grin lit up his face as he crossed the road, strolled confidently up the path to the house, and stepped up to the door. He knocked, and was greeted by a young woman who immediately ushered him into the houses and out of the rain. She had a large, warm smile on and her long, flaming red hair was pulled back into a messy braid. Her emerald green eyes quickly scanned Dumbledore's face, making sure he hadn't been harmed by the storm.

"Professor Dumbledore!" the woman greeted happily. "We thought you were coming Thursday? Oh, no matter, I'm sure Delilah will let you visit her now since you're here."

"Call me Albus, Lily, you earned that right the moment you graduated," the old man responded, his eyes twinkling with mirth. He gave a light laugh before continuing.

"I apologize for the late hour, but I have been informed that the child is, rather different," Dumbledore continued, phrasing it as more of a question rather than a statement, his curiosity evident on his features.

"Why yes, her accidental magic is much stronger and precise than I have ever seen. It's starting far too early to be natural." Lily explained, as she began to lead him through the entranceway, and up the stairs.

"Yes, very unusual. However I have come to believe that there may be a . . . well, surprising answer to this."

Seeing the look of worrying at had appeared on Lily's face as he spoke, he hurriedly tried to reassure her.

"It is a good thing, marvelous, really. Think of it as more of a gift, a special talent."

They had reached the top of the stairs, and veered off to the right, going down the hallway. Passing a few doors they finally came to a stop in front of a yellow one. Upon entering the room, Dumbledore's attention was immediately brought to the crib, and the young man standing next to it. His name was Sirius Black. Sirius was a tall, handsome young man, with black hair that reached just above his shoulders and stormy grey eyes that were filled with mischief. A jovial smile had lit up his face as he gazed upon the baby girl who lay fast asleep in her crib. Next to him stood his wife, Delilah. She was slim and tall, though shorter than her husband. Her face was framed by her long blonde hair, which looked beautiful when combined with her electric blue eyes and pale yet unblemished skin.

"Albus, you made it," Sirius exclaimed, as he and Delilah walked over to greet Dumbledore.

"Yes, though the weather was not very helpful," he answered with a light chuckle. "Tell me, how is the child?"

"She's an absolute angel, aside from all the accidental magic of course." Delilah answered, her eyes portraying a hint of amusement.

"Ah, yes. I believe I have found an explanation for that, though it will take some explaining. But first, just out of curiosity, what have you named the girl?"

This time it was Sirius who responded.

"Emma, sir. Emma Marie Black."

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_thanks for reading!_


	2. Life as We Know It

_hey,_

_wow I actually updated within the time frame I gave myself!_

_so this is the first real chapter, and it starts right before Hogwarts comes into the picture_

_As always, please review, I was disappointed no one reviewed on the prologue. I love critics and would love feedback (especially if I spelled something wrong, those mistakes are always embarrassing. I found so many when I first edited this). On that note - would anyone like to be a Beta for this story?_

_Thanks to everyone who followed/favorited! You guys keep me writing, as cliche as it sounds :)_

_enjoy your lives,_

_emily_

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

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_All I Knew,_

_This Morning When I Woke,_

_Is I Know Something Now,_

_Know Something Now,_

_I Didn't before._

_\- Taylor Swift Ft. Ed Sheeran_

_Everything Has Changed_

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Mrs. Smith was not a kind lady. She was the type of woman who would scowl at all the strangers in the grocery store, and swiftly stalk by the homeless children on the streets without even a second glance. Ms. Smith never went to church or participated in volunteer day, and her favorite hobby was punishing children. She had a sadistic sense of humor, though she rarely laughed. Most people wondered how she ever managed to convince an unfortunate human being to even consider marriage. As you can obviously tell by now, Mrs. Caroline Jane Smith was a mean lady.

Living up to the stereotypical image of cynical old ladies, she completely and utterly despised anything that fell under the categories of new, modern, or untraditional. However, above all of these characteristics, she believed that abnormal things were the worst. And abnormal was the first word that popped into her mind as another person entered the orphanage facility.

This lady swept in the room with an air of importance surrounding her, her emerald cloak swishing around her feet as she strode up towards the front desk. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and underneath was the stern face of someone you did not want to cross. Mrs. Smith may not have been known for being especially wise or prudent, but even she acknowledged the fact that one must step carefully around such an imposing figure.

"Hello, how may I help you?" She greeted cautiously, her eyes narrowing with disdain at the billowing robes worn by the woman.

The mysterious woman gazed down through the square shaped glasses resting on her nose.

"Good morning," she returned. "I am Minerva McGonagall, and I booked an appointment with Ms. Smith."

"That would be me, and what is the nature of your visit?"

"I am here representing a boarding school known as Hogwarts. I would like to speak to you regarding the opening we have reserved for Miss Emma Wilson."

Mrs. Smith was confused. The orphanage children never filled out applications for schools, and even if they had, no school would be likely to choose a child of such low abilities as the ones who had been shoved into the dilapidated orphanage. They had poor grades, no outside activities, and trouble followed most of them as closely as a shadow. In fact, Emma Wilson was a one of the worst miscreants, always being found at the source of an accident. Something was clearly wrong with the situation, and Mrs. Smith did not like it.

"Very well, we can discuss this in my office," and she led Minerva into the back room, after fiercely glaring at the curios boy poking his head into the front hall.

Emma Wilson peered out the window, eyeing the spot where the woman had been. She swore that the lady had just appeared there out of thin air, like magic, though she dismissed the thought quickly. She presumed that it was an illusion, or maybe she needed glasses (she severely hoped not, they would be such an inconvenience). The appearance of the lady became even more puzzling as Emma realized that she was wearing very odd clothes of some strange new design_. _Maybe she was foreign? Deciding to ponder this occurrence later, she pushed the blonde wisps of hair that had fallen from her long braid back behind her ear, and focused her gaze on the most recent page in her sketchbook.

She was attempting to draw herself, but something seemed off about the face. Shrugging it off, she added a few more details to her stormy grey eyes, before continuing with the rest of her body. She had a very thin figure, and was on the short side, but only slightly. Emma deftly moved her pencil across the page, finishing the body and stepped back to examine the portrait again. Something was still wrong!

"Ugh, I give up!" She exclaimed angrily, slamming the shabby sketchbook back onto her desk in exasperation. Behind her came the heavy thumping of a book, as it fell off her dresser. She brushed the noise aside, similar incidents had a tendency to happen around her. Whenever she underwent intense and palpable emotions, things would go south real fast.

Emma's musings were disrupted as the sound of voices and footsteps traveling up the stairs finally reached her ears. Now listening with great attention, Emma quickly distinguished one of the voices as Mrs. Smith's, causing her to cringe and groan inwardly. It was no secret that the nightmare in charge of St. Claire's orphanage hated Emma with a burning passion. It seemed that ever since she showed up on the doorstep on a cold November morning almost ten years ago, Mrs. Smith had made her opinion crystal clear. It wasn't Emma's fault though; the old hag loathed anything unusual, yet unusual seemed to be the young girl's most prominent characteristic. She had an unfortunate record; abnormal circumstances were attracted to Emma like sharks to blood.

She was once again broken out of her reverie as the voices drew closer to her bedroom - if you could call it a room. It was a small, cramped, closed-off section of the attic. Emma was equipped with a few aged pieces of furniture. There was a cot, a small dresser, a rickety bedside table and chair, along with a threadbare rug that barely covered any of the floor and was terribly frayed at the edges. The only thing Emma truly enjoyed about her lonely corner of the attic was the large window that overlooked the city. She had rearranged her room so that her table and chair sat facing the majestic view that the window provided, and she would often sit there, trying to capture the magnificence of the picturesque scene in her drawings. Occasionally she would climb outside using the chair and sit out on a tiny patch of the roof.

The voices had now reached her door, causing Emma's face to fall once again.

"Please don't be another social worker!" She prayed in a whisper to herself. She had a tendency to go through social workers like teenagers go through moods.

A hand sharply knocked against the wooden door three times, and with a great hesitancy Emma walked over and slowly opened it. She almost laughed as she realized she was acting as though it was death knocking instead of a cranky old lady. Nonetheless Emma still gently swept the fallen book under her bed and out of sight before Mrs. Smith could see it lying on the ground. The devil herself entered first, glancing at the dusty room with superiority and disdain in her eyes. After her, the mysterious lady that had appeared outside strolled into the room, and softly closed the door behind her.

"Emma Wilson," Mrs. Smith began speaking in her brittle voice. "This is Professor McGonagall, she is a teacher a boarding school called Hallmarks."

"Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall corrected, causing Ms. Smith's face to redden in abashment. She chose that time to make her leave, quickly exiting the room and leaving the young girl alone with the strict looking professor.

For a moment, all was silent as neither spoke a word. McGonagall was first to break the quiet.

"Do you believe in _magic_, Emma?"

The completely random question had taken her by surprise, stunning her for a moment until she remembered how to speak.

"Er - well, not really, no" she stuttered, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze of the imposing lady.

McGonagall seemed unfazed by her admission, and continued with the odd conversation.

"And what if I could convince you otherwise?"

"What?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing, it didn't make sense. There must be something wrong with my ears, she thought. Or maybe the lady was simply insane? '_Yes_,' Emma decided, Minerva McGonagall must be incredibly loony, which provided an explanation for the interesting fashion choices that she had made. The woman was wearing an emerald cloak for goodness sake!

However, in the time it took Emma to reach this conclusion, McGonagall had pulled out a smooth wooden stick from her robes, and was now pointing it at the pencil she had left on her table. Sharply flicking the stick at the pencil, it immediately became a turtle. Emma couldn't believe her eyes, blinking and rubbing them to see if her vision would clear, and the startling phenomenon would disappear. She even became so desperate as to try pinching herself as well, which only resulted in slight arm pain. '_This has to be a dream,_' she thought, yet she didn't wake up.

"T-that's not possible." The alarmed girl stated, dumbstruck yet in awe of the feat that had been demonstrated in front of her very own eyes.

"For non-magic folk, or muggles as we call them, it is very impossible. However, for witches such as you and me it is highly possible with a certain amount of practice."

Emma's eyes, which had been quite wide before, were now open even bigger and her mouth hung wide open as she tried to process all the astounding information.

"So I'm a w-witch?" She was very uncertain, believing this to be a prank set by one of the older and meaner orphans, like Molly or Thomas. "Not to sound rude, but I just can't believe I can do magic like that."

Professor McGonagall just gave a minuscule smile, asking, "Have you ever made anything strange happen, something out of the ordinary or _magical_?"

Emma's immediate answer would have been a no, but as she began to think and she remembered all the strange occurrences that were the foundation of Mrs. Smith's hatred for her. Could it be that it wasn't _just_ coincidental that all these incidents had happened around _her_, whenever _her _emotions grew out of control? Like when Molly's hair started to fall out. It began when she and some of the older orphans were teasing an 8-year old Emma at dinner. Molly had tauntingly called Emma an 'unwanted nobody'. That's when a clump of her hair plopped down into her bowl of soup. Or when Jenna had caught 6 different butterfly's and was holding them captive in a small container. While all the other girls had surrounded them, Emma just felt bad for the innocent creatures, and seconds after this, the box broke and all the butterflies had flown to freedom. Jenna had been so upset about that. There was another incident the day Emma had first been moved to the attic rooms. She was absolutely terrified when she discovered there were mice in the attic, and had barely been able to fall asleep the first night. The next day, the bottom floors of the orphanage were infested with mice, yet not a single one was discovered in the attic. And finally, there was today, when the book had flown off of her dresser as she grew frustrated at her drawing.

It was these memories that changed Emma's original answer of _no_, into a hopeful, "_yes_".

The lady had once again smiled lightly at this answer and proceeded to pull out a letter from the pockets of her robe. "This is your acceptance letter to Hogwarts, along with a supply list. If you would like to accept it, there is a spot for you at Hogwarts, a school of witchcraft and wizardry.

She looked down at the envelope in her hands, excitement coursing through her at the thought of what lay inside. On the outside, written in emerald-green ink, it said;

Miss. Emma Wilson

Attic of St. Claire's Orphanage

17 Solace Road

London

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and there was no stamp. Carefully turning the letter over in her hands, Emma saw a purple wax seal bearing an intricate coat of arms. It was a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle all surrounding a large letter H. She slowly opened the envelope, pulled out the letter, and began to read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss. Wilson,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress _

"Await your owl?" She wondered aloud, while dozens of other questions soared through her mind.

"In the magic world, wizards send letters through owl post instead of the mail." McGonagall explained. Looking into Emma's eyes, she continued speaking. "Would you like to attend Hogwarts and learn about the wizarding world?"

Emma nodded eagerly in response.

_'Anything to get out of this dump'_ she thought to herself.


	3. Magic In the Air

_Okay it's been awhile. I am highly aware of how long the wait was. However, on the bright side, I got a new laptop, so I can actually write now. That of course made a big difference. Also, I edited the previous chapters a lot. No big changes in plot, just a lot of grammatical errors and rewording of sentences. _

_To anyone who reads this - thank you so much for sticking with me this long, and I would love you even more if you reviewed_

_Big thank you to the one person who actually cares enough to review, __Kuronique Misaki _

_~emily _

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd be typing this while on the beach in Hawaii, not during another snowstorm in New England.**

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_Call it magic_

_Call it true_

_I call it magic_

_When I'm with you_

_And I just got broken_

_Broken into two_

_Still I call it magic_

_When I'm next to you_

_\- Magic_

_Coldplay_

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"I've told Mrs. Smith that I'm taking you to London to get your school things. As you are new to the world of magic, we shall travel the muggle way." Professor McGonagall announced as she led Emma out the orphanage door and towards the awaiting taxi.

It was a peaceful drive into downtown London, and Emma used the time as a chance to reflect on all that had happened. So much had transpired in such little time and she could hardly believe that only a few hours ago she was miserably munching on cold cereal in the dining hall. She was amazed at how quickly her life had turned around. Hopefully it had turned around for the better this time.

Looking out the window and viewing the passing scenery, Emma couldn't help but ponder over what they would be getting in London, and where they would get it. These thoughts led her to pull out the envelope with her letter. She reached in, her fingers brushing against the thick parchment, and pulled out the other paper, which she hadn't gotten the chance to read during all of the morning's excitement.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of _WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Emma was intrigued by the list, although it also brought a depressing question to the front of her mind.

"Professor McGonagall, how are we going to pay for my school stuff? I haven't got any money and the orphanage fund is far too low to pay for it."

"Do not worry about that. Your parents were very well off and have a large account at Gringotts - the wizard bank - and you have access to it. Although, even if you didn't, the school has a fund for less fortunate children like you." She answered.

"Professor, did you know my parents? No one has ever told me anything about them."

An uncomfortable grimace appeared on the face of the Professor as she hesitated to answer the question.

"Yes, I did know your parents. They both were very talented wizards, in the same year and house at Hogwarts. You look very similar to your mother, Delilah, except you have your father's eyes."

"Oh," Emma said. She had been hoping for a more descriptive and detailed answer, but the stony expression on McGonagall's face had discouraged her from pushing for more information.

The two fell into a disquieting silence until finally the taxi had pulled to a stop in front of a row of buildings. McGonagall paid the driver, though it took her a moment to get the right amount of money.

"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, Miss. Wilson." She gestured to the shabby looking pub in front of them. Emma wouldn't have noticed it, had Professor McGonagall not pointed it out, and the people walking by didn't seem to notice it either. In fact, Emma had the most peculiar feeling that only she and McGonagall could see it.

As the taxi drove off, Emma turned to her future professor, inquiring, "Can muggles see the Leaky Cauldron?"

"No, their eyes travel right from the book shop that's on one side and continue onto the record shop, skipping right over this famous wizarding place."

Again, waves of questions began popping up in Emma's mind as her teacher finished speaking. However she didn't get the chance to have them answered as professor McGonagall had begun to walk at a brisk pace towards the shabby building. Emma quickly fell into step behind her, and entered the pub. The bell on the door clanged noisily as they entered, causing a few costumers to look up, though upon realizing that it was no one of importance, they promptly returned to their previous endeavors. Inside was just as desolate as the outside, if not more. There was a group of elderly women in the corner who were chatting and drinking some sort of concoction out of cloudy glasses. One of them was smoking a long pipe, which caused Emma to worry for her health. There was a couple of younger men that looked to be just out of college - did the wizard world have college? - talking to the bartender, looked similar to a toothless walnut with his shin bald head.

McGonagall speedily strode through the bar without delay, for which Emma was very grateful. She hated places like this, ever since she landed in the foster family with the alcoholic father. Against her will she was reminded if the twisted memories of the house that she had tried to forget. Emma struggled with the thoughts for a moment, before focusing on the floor and attempting once again to push the memories away.

The professor led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. Without pausing to explain why they were standing in such a grubby place, McGonagall pulled out her wand and began counting the bricks in the wall above the trash can. Emma watched as she lightly tapped a brick three times, taking note that the brick was three up and two across, and looked to be quite ordinary. However, her jaw fell open as the brick Professor McGonagall had touched quivered - it wriggled - in the middle, a small hole appeared. Dumbstruck, Emma stared in awe at the phenomenon as the hole grew wider and wider, and a second later it had grown large enough for a giant, and became an archway onto a cobblestone street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said McGonagall, "to Diagonal Alley."

Emma barely heard the statement, she was already lost in her amazement. At this point, she should have adapted to her new life, that was full of sudden twists and surprises, but alas, she was still thoroughly shocked at the sight before her. There was so much to see, so much to experience! Thousands of things she had never even heard of, much less tried to use.

They stepped through the archway, into the fairytale setting. Turning back, Emma watched as the archway shrunk back into a solid brick wall, and she tested out the firmness with the back of her heel.

Immediately her attention shifted to the side as the sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop, the glaring reflection on their polished surfaces becoming quite distracting.

"Do I get a cauldron?" Emma whispered excitedly.

"Yes, but we need to get your money first." McGonagall answered.

Emma wished she had about eight more eyes - or that McGonagall would walk slower. She was a woman on a mission, and kept a steady pace as they stepped down the cobblestone street. Emma turned her head in every direction as they walked, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, and the people doing their shopping. An elderly couple just leaving an apothecary were laughing about some inside joke. A younger lady near them was looking in the window with a frown, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, that's even more than last week . . ."

They passed by a rather loud shop, with a sign identifying it as Eeylops Owl Emporium. Lots of hooting noises were projecting from the store. Next door, several children around Emma's age were ogling at a window filled with broomsticks, going on about a _'new Nimbus Two Thousand'_. There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Emma had never seen before (though she was highly intrigued), windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and other gross parts(less intrigued by _that_), mile high piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles -

She was so entranced by what was around her that she forgot to watch where she headed and almost tripped on a step. Emma looked up to see McGonagall climbing the white stone steps that led up to a grand building towering over the other little shops and buildings. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a - er, a _goblin_. The goblin was about half of a head shorter than Emma (she was fairly short herself). He had a wrinkled, clever face, a pointed beard, and very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of door, silver this time, with the carefully carved words of a poem engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in return.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

A pair of goblins bowed ridiculously low as they walked through the silver doors and into a vast marble hall. No less than a hundred goblins were seated on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing strange looking coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were countless doors showing the way out of the hall, and even more goblins were ushering groups of people in and out of these. McGonagall headed towards a goblin sitting at the counter.

"Good morning," she greeted cordially. "We would like to make a withdrawal from vault seven hundred and eleven."

"May I have the key, ma'am?"

She pulled out a small silver key from the pocket of her robes and presented it to the goblin, who looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order, let me have someone take you down to the vault." He turned his head and called out to another goblin. "Durgoff!"

Durgoff was another of the many goblins, who proceeded to lead Emma and Professor McGonagall towards one of the doors branching out from the hall. The door led into a hallway that was the exact opposite from the marble hall they were just in. It was a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches that cast long shadows on the stones. It sloped steeply downward disappearing into darkness, and railway tracks filled the path. The room reminded Emma of the dragon's den in a movie she had loved as a child. Durgoff gave a sharp whistle and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. It stopped abruptly and they climbed in. As soon as they all sat down, the cart sped off down into a maze of twisting passages. They took so many swift turns that Emma was lost within a matter of seconds, not even bothering to try and remember where they went. She assumed that the cart was magical and knew what way to go, as Durgoff had leaned back to relax and wasn't even steering. Though how anyone could manage to relax while traveling at high speeds in a rattling cart completely mystified Emma.

Emma's eyes stung as the cold air whipped past, but she kept them wide open, eager accumulate more memories of magic. Once, she thought she saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake. Emma only had a fleeting glimpse of it, though she still was amazed by the beauty. Huge stalagmites and stalactites grew from the floor and ceiling, and they were reflected perfectly in the crystal waters.

Eventually, the cart stopped besides a small silver door in the passage wall. Stepping out of the cart, Durgoff walked to the door and inserted the key into the lock. As the door slowly opened, with no one touching it, a cloud of smoke came billowing out. As soon as it cleared enough to see inside the vault, Emma gasped loudly. Inside were mountains of gold, silver, and bronze coins.

"This can't be the right vault." Emma stated, clearly still in awe.

"It's all yours, though I expect you will spend it responsibly." McGonagall said in a stern voice. She then proceeded to move towards a pile and began to scoop some coins into a small bag. "The gold ones are Galleons," she explained. "The silver coins are Sickles, and the little bronze ones are called Knuts. There are seventeen Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle." Turning back to Emma, she continued to speak. "I've collected enough for your school supplies, and took the liberty to get some extra to convert to muggle money for you, since I doubt they give you much of anything at the orphanage."

Emma was a little surprised at the gesture, but incredibly grateful all the same.


End file.
